The British are notorious cultural thieves, a habit of pilfering strikingly shown in the country's most iconic drink, tea, which had nothing to do with our Atlantic island until commerce and adventure took Britons to the middle and far east. Milk, sugar, strainers, spoons and bags then followed in homely succession, along with that glorious vessel, the teapot. Britain did not invent even this, but we can certainly claim to have adapted and varied it to an extent unusual even in crockery. Cottages, fire engines, cats and Gladstone's head; there was nothing which could not contain and celebrate the source of cuppas. There is an enjoyable reminder of this at the V&A's fine current exhibition on the Victorian aesthetic movement, The Cult of Beauty, which resurrects the "Living up to our Teapots" fad of the 1880s. Based on a sally by Oscar Wilde at the mania for blue china, the quip led to plays, songs and cartoons at the aesthetes' expense; and, of course, to commemorative teapots. The V&A has an excellent one from Royal Worcester, a greenery-yallery couple back-to-back, their arms precisely forming the handle and spout. One has a sunflower to contemplate, the other an arum lily, and their delicate features are distinguishable only by the man's artistic moustache. A conversation-stopper in some circles, the piece must also have sustained many thousands of polite afternoon teas. If an angel passes, a bright compliment about the shape, pouring ability or originality of the teapot seldom fails to get things going again.